A True Phoenix



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It was his tear that caught my attention; a single tear that rolled down his cheek, catching itself amidst a piece of uncut stubble. Of everything in the room it had to be the tear; an act of love he had not once shown before, nor would he ever show again, for his heart had grown cold these past few days. Solemnly I took my leave, dreading the day I next saw him, fearing the memories it would stir up deep within, but cherishing them all the same.

There was a pain welling in my heart, which I had not felt since his betrayal, the cause of which I knew was not his doing. In truth I could not help but feel a sense of animosity toward him, no matter how hard I tried, for it had grown in his absence and lingered in his stead. It was this pain that brought me forth back into reality when I opened my room door to find his clothes sprawled upon my bed. I wailed a thousand cries of anguish, casting them aside, cursing, though my sobs went unheard for I could not give her the satisfaction. Little did I know, that would be the day I came to understand hatred.

It had happened so fast, I had barely time to think, but even then I was scorned, being only a boy of fifteen.  I would be the one at fault for suggesting his recovery, when others were already making plans for his service. The ensuing pessimism plaguing me at every turn, but it was not of my possession, for I never once lost hope. Was an integral part of it all that everyone else had? Surely it could not be, for only hours had passed since his wreck had been witnessed; only hours had passed since his body had been torn.

On I walked through corridors of sorrow, haunting images of my premonition burning deep inside. Upon nearing his chamber I paused in an act of trepidation, somehow mustering strength enough to regain my lost composure; somehow mustering the courage to continue through the door. Fear caught me, for therein his broken body lay, the only signs of life being those of artificiality; nothing more than the creation of mere machine. His eye was swollen with tears of scarlet substance, casting a purplish hue about his skin, distorting my perception of just who it was I was looking upon. That was the first of the four days of hell.

So there I sat in his chamber once more, waiting for the tear to run its course, as those of sombre nature fell upon him; those of which were my belonging. Had the kiss I so delicately placed upon my sibling’s brow been the cause of such graceful dismissal? Could it be he’d somehow managed to stay long enough to say goodbye, despite his expiration several hours before? Whatever the cause, I found it rather poetic his heart gave in that day of St Valentine’s; the day that I would finally lose whatever hope I had held onto.

Even in times of such privation, I could sense her scrutiny through the window, though pride would have me hush the anger it stirred within. It was pity that my feet were much too large to fill his shoes; albeit I did not know it then, for I was told they were too small. Such was a façade made manifest to represent him in all his glory; the harshest of his indiscretions conveniently misplaced throughout.

He had passed by, a decade along with him; a fading memory of such times of tribulation. The precognitions metamorphosed into the lustre of hope I had once forgotten. Now, though I walk through those corridors again, I am filled with feelings of torment no longer, for the thorns within my side have withered and fallen, leaving only the subtlest of scars in their place. It is a joy that fills my heart for what I know the day brings forth; a joy the likes of which my soul has never known.

I had met him in a dream only months prior to his conception, admiring the radiance of a brilliant light about him; an apparition, an exaltation of the purest thing I ever chanced to witness. Patiently throughout I awaited his arrival; the day I came to understand the meaning of perfection without the falsity of bereaved memory.

His tears were first to fall, closely followed by my own, but they were to bear no semblance to those of years passed, for the emotion that had spurred them was of elated signification. Overcome now with this new found sense of contentment, I could not help but kiss my son upon the brow; a reflection of renewal, and thus a liberty achieved.

As he smiles at me with the utmost of affection, staring at my soul through windows metaphorical, I comprehend a truth that for so long lay hidden; a surety, a certainty of mind that we have known each other in times previous.  This unfaltering bond I internalise, its expectation to fill not of other’s sandals, but that of the hole once threatening to tear my spirit in two; an emptiness, a numbness I had come to accept as normality.

I look upon him pondering all that has befallen; pondering the mysteries of such a benevolent saviour, a true phoenix whose wings will forever soar. And when times unexpected, are of chances coincidental, it is for but a moment that I catch a glimpse within his eye; a glimpse of the one I lost so many years ago. Those are days infinite that my love for him grows.


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